


The Dry Cleaner

by RainbowObsidian



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AU - less trauma, Alternate Meeting, F/F, F/M, M/M, POV Andrew Minyard, inspired by an ad for australian beer only actually consumed in the UK, ridicufic, ridiculous fic, the foxes are grown up, the foxhole court means something different, this started as crack and somehow ended up a bit soft?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26925343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowObsidian/pseuds/RainbowObsidian
Summary: While they eat, everyone takes turns telling their weirdest experience of the week and at the end, Judge Andrew considers all evidence before announcing the verdict. This tradition of the Foxhole Court has been a fixture for a few years now and it’s one of Andrew’s favourite things. It used to be that he participated in the shenanigans too but he saw weird shit all of the time and no one wanted gory details at the dinner table.ORFound family, chaotic good neil, apple pies, and a strategic rainstorm.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Kevin Day/Aaron Minyard, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Nicky Hemmick/Erik Klose
Comments: 25
Kudos: 208





	The Dry Cleaner

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by an ad my hubby did a few years ago. I've been struggling with writer's block and I decided a bit of crack was exactly what i needed to bring me out of it. I haven't had so much fun writing since - well, ever. 
> 
> Thanks be to @justadreamfox for your love and beta - and for my alt summary which i totally didn't quote you on (much).

Andrew twists the lid off his beer and flicks the cap into the bin eight feet from where he sits. It goes in. It always does. It’s one of his superpowers. Hardly seems worthy of labeling it as such but he simply can’t miss, no matter how hard he tries. He’d given up trying to make it hard for himself years ago. Gathering his family together on a weekly basis is another one of his superpowers and of all the people in the world (or more narrowly, of all the people in his family) he has no idea how that kind of wizardry has been bestowed upon him, but it has and so he does. _That'_ _s_ a superpower worth marvelling over, he thinks. 

It helps that everyone still lives locally. Palmetto is a coastal town nestled between two mid-sized cities. Most everyone works in one or the other of the two cities, though Renee’s 365 day beach sunrise photography project means she rarely strays far from home, and Matt owns the local swim school that operates out of the ocean pool, moonlighting as a lifeguard on the beach when the regular crew can’t cover sick leave. Everyone else commutes. It’s astonishing that they all returned really, but this town had a tendency to get stuck under your skin. 

After school they’d gone their separate ways for college or work, but when Andrew was the first to buy a house a decade ago everyone came back for the housewarming. It had been the first time they’d all been together in years; time had mellowed the edges of their personalities and they had enjoyed a remarkably pleasant weekend. It helped that Kevin and Aaron had finally sorted their shit out and gotten together - _that_ sexual tension had been bubbling away for years, resulting in more shouting matches and brawls between the two of them than Kevin managed with anyone else combined at their high school (which was no mean feat). Andrew doesn’t know what finally made them realise what was going on but he’s glad that they had. Sulking Aaron is his least favourite version of his brother. 

Over the last ten years they’ve all partnered up; some whilst in the city, some since they’d trickled back into town. Nicky even convinced his Alpine-loving mountain man Erik to move from Germany and live at the beach instead; he was that desperate to have his kids grow up around their uncles. Yep, everyone has partnered up except Andrew, and he’s okay with that. Mostly. In recent years he hasn’t really met anyone that is interesting enough to hold his attention. Most people he meets are too easy to work out, or have little more to offer than good looks, but even then, Andrew has never had classical taste in men. (There’s one guy he’s seen once or twice, hair like copper flames, eyes as blue as the Atlantic on a winter's day. Andrew thinks he must be new in town. He’s interesting, Andrew supposes, something in his guarded expression that is intriguing.) Anyway, between work and his family there’s little room for boredom or loneliness - or for pursuing pretty guys - and if Nicky touches a nerve every time he says “paramedicine won’t hold you up when you’re old and lonely” ... look, he means well.

Besides, he’s content. _Happy_ even _,_ which is an emotion he never thought he’d be able to wear when he was younger. 

Now without fail everyone gathers every Sunday dinner at The Foxhole, affectionately named so by Allison on the day of the housewarming after she took one look at Andrew’s ramshackle house filled with rambly corridors and dusty rooms and demanded to see the den. The rag-tag group of misfits had been known as The Foxes at school and so the house was christened with a unanimous vote and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot smashed over the cladding.

Andrew closes his eyes and inhales. He can smell the lamb slow cooking on the grill. He can smell the neighbour’s freshly mown grass. He can smell a tinge of ozone; they might end up eating inside tonight. He can hear the ocean. Sunday afternoon is his favourite time of the week. Especially when those Sundays are followed by a public holiday, as is tonight. He’s one beer in and he can hear Ally and Ren in the kitchen pottering around, presumably making drinks and prepping salads. He should probably get up and say hi but they know where to find him when they’re ready; right now he’s enjoying the serenity, bathed in late afternoon light, awash with the knowledge that in the next half an hour all of his people will be here, bobbing around in his space.

A sudden spurt of water runs down the back of his neck and he jumps up at the unexpected sensation, turning to see his attacker wielding a plastic water bottle and poised to go again. 

“Matthew Donovan Boyd!” Dan mock-scolds her husband, cackling simultaneously. Andrew thinks he must be getting soft in his old age if Boyd thinks he can get away with something like that without a knife wound. Instead he pushes the taller man in the chest, sending him into a sprawling, laughing heap on the lawn. 

“You’re getting soft in your old age,” Matt affirms Andrew’s unspoken thoughts. “There’s a time you would have sliced me nipple to navel for that.”

“You caught me in a weak moment. It’s only because I was entertaining the idea that you lot might actually be growing on me that I didn’t hear you sneak up.” He pulls another beer from the cooler and passes it to Matt. Levels his best intimidating glare at him - the glare he saves for meth addicts and those abusive partners that pretend to be devastated and in shock when the paramedics arrive - and says “the knives have been sharpened for the roast, don’t test me.” Matt laughs like he’s pretty sure he thinks he knows Andrew’s joking and Dan heads inside to catch up with the girls. They drink their beers in comfortable silence. Andrew flicks the bottle cap over his shoulder and nails the shot. 

He and Ren are dragging the deck chairs out from under the house when Aaron and Kevin arrive. He leans his armful against the wall and embraces Aaron for a quick hug. Marvels that they do this now. Pokes him in the flushed cheek and, noticing Kevin’s equally pink face raises an eyebrow and says with a smirk “did you two get lost on the way here?” Kevin coughs and mumbles something about putting drinks in the cooler before walking away. Aaron says “fuck off you’re just jealous” - though the deepening red at the back of his neck belies his cocky tone - and helps with the remaining chairs. Andrew snorts in return. 

It’s a good afternoon. It always is. Erik stayed home with the kids which is, on one hand, disappointing - Andrew’s quite fond of the giant German and the sprograts - and on the other hand it’s a rare treat. It means Nicky can relax and enjoy a few drinks with the rest of the Foxes, and it feels like old times, just with better food. When they’ve eaten too much cheese and had one or two too many drinks they head inside for dinner. 

While they eat, everyone takes turns telling their weirdest experience of the week and at the end, Judge Andrew considers all evidence before announcing the verdict. This tradition of the Foxhole Court has been a fixture for a few years now and it’s one of Andrew’s favourite things. It used to be that he participated in the shenanigans too (the Foxes were a competitive and usually intoxicated bunch and conflation was rife) but he saw weird shit all of the time and no one wanted gory details at the dinner table. Eventually Aaron pulled older brother rank (if _Doctor Minyard_ could avoid body fluid talk at the table why couldn’t Andrew?) and relegated Andrew to the judges bench. That Christmas Nicky had given him a fine wooden gavel with faux gold inlay and it was one of his most prized possessions.

“This court is now in session,” Andrew says, in his most serious voice (which isn’t very different from his usual voice), banging his gavel once on the table beside him. 

And so it begins.

Renee goes first. She’s wearing a sundress with spaghetti straps and he wonders if she wore that on purpose to show off the bruises he gave her in their sparring match last week. He hasn’t beaten her yet (possibly he holds back just a smidge so he doesn’t ever _really_ hurt her - probably she’s just a better fighter) but he always gives it a good go and this time they have matching bruises. They’re so hard core.  
  
“Did you guys see the sunrise yesterday morning?” she begins and then rolls her eyes and laughs because who is she kidding? None of these clowns are ever up early enough to see the sunrise. Neither was Andrew until he became an EMT but then the quiet dawning became one of his favourite times of the day. He’s spent many mornings when he wasn’t working perched on rocks with Ren, watching daybreak over the ocean. Andrew gives her a small, knowing smile and she continues. 

“Okay, so it was the best all week. Thick striated clouds, fingers of God streaming through, and the ocean was a mirror of dark, almost stormy blue. It was glorious.” She pauses to take a sip of her wine before continuing. “Anyway you know I’d eat cafe breakfast every day if I could-”

“You can babe,” Allison interrupts, “if that’s your contribution to helping me blow my inheritance I’m all for it.” Andrew watches as his best friend places two fingers to her wife’s lips in a tender order to shut up. Ally does. Andrew’s chest tightens just a little, like a vice that’s barely twisted, but twisted all the same. 

“I think it is a colossal waste of time and money to eat out every morning, so I have this thing where if I see the fingers of God _then_ I get to go to Eden’s and do breakfast. Ally had to work so it was just me and I am in the middle of a great book so I grabbed one of those high backed chairs so I could curl up while I waited. 

“Of course, they’re a pain in the ass to eat at, the coffee table is so low, but it was early so it’s not like anyone was going to see me eating all awkward like from a huge chair at a small table. Except.” She shakes her head and closes her eyes for a moment as if conjuring the vision and Andrew notices the smattering of freckles across her nose are starting to turn darker, same as they do every summer, making her look like the girl he grew up play-fighting with all those years ago. Some things never change. 

“ _Except._ I’m eating my poached eggs - little fairy orgasms going off inside my mouth they’re so good - and I have my eyes closed, just savouring the moment and when I open them there’s a guy - the chef I guess?? But I haven’t seen him before - standing in front of me watching me eat.

“‘I love food,’ he says, _sliding into the seat in front of me,_ perching on the edge, because he’s a pretty little guy and the chair would swallow him up otherwise. As it was, his uniform was too big and he was wearing one of those ridiculous chef hats like he’d just stepped out of a Michelin rated restaurant or something.” She’s waving her fork around now as she talks; revelling in the tale.

“And then he launched into this monologue about poaching, leaning forward with his elbows leaning on his knees, just talking absolute shit.”

“Do the monologue, Ren, it’s hilarious,” Ally encourages. 

“He goes - ‘I love food. I just really love it. Saute grill, bake, fry, poach. I love that. Love poaching. Underrated. Poaching. So underrated. You got an ingredient and don’t know what to do with it? Poach it.’ And all the while punctuating his words every time he says poach with a poke of his fingers towards my plate.”

Ally’s right, it is hilarious, but as judge, Andrew feels a deep responsibility to remain as impartial as possible, so he contains his smile to his eyes, knowing full well Ren will interpret it all the same. 

“I was stunned into silence.” She’s laughing now, little tears have formed and are balanced on her lower lids, waiting to spill over. “I just kind of looked at him, unable to speak, I think I even goldfished a couple of times and then it was like all of a sudden he realised I had nothing to offer in return, and he stood up, suuuper awkward and walked out. Out the door. He just left. And then I finished my breakfast.” She wipes her eyes and grins, raising her eyebrows as she looks around the table in challenge. 

“I’ve got nothing on that,” Nicky laments, and Dan holds her hands up in surrender. Aaron drops his head to the table momentarily and Allison waves her hand flippantly. She doesn’t care, she’s clearly pretty sure Ren’s got this one in the bag.

“Come on guys,” Matt rallies, “life is _weird_ , weird shit happens all the time. Maybe none of us have a story to top that one but we all have a weird truth- ”

“-the whole truth and nothing but the truth-” everyone else solemnly interjects. Fuck Andrew loves his family. 

“-from the week to bring to the table.”

“I’m sick of garden variety truths-”

“-the whole truth and nothing but the truth-” the chorus repeats, as is tradition.

“Nicky darling, nothing about you is garden variety,” Allison says with a reassuring squeeze of his shoulder, just tell us your thing.”

Nicky is right, though, his story is boring. Something about taking the sprograts to the hospital for a check up at the clinic and on his way out witnessing some doctor being bailed up by a guy in the corridor, opening his drawstring pants to show off whatever was going on his pants and the doctor - ridiculously - looking down, and then dry retching into a dustbin at whatever he saw. 

Allison’s weird tale was about being dragged off at the lights by a guy wearing a full rally car driver suit, helmet and all, but he was driving a cream and rust Saturn Ion, grinning like he thought he was king of the world despite being behind the wheel of the world’s shittiest car. 

Dan saw a guy in full judge regalia - wig and all - at the bar after she’d finished her cases for the day, and overheard him bragging to the barman with a proud smile on his face saying ‘I threw the book at him - literally.’ And then mimed throwing something after he was handed his drink. 

Matt was covering a lifeguard shift when one of the guys from the beach south of them - someone he didn’t recognise - came running along the waterfront, Baywatch style, and then started chatting with a bunch of tourists. He went over to introduce himself and overheard him saying ‘I once had to resuscitate myself,’ like he was hot shit and also apparently some kind of magician. When he spotted Matt he mumbled a flimsy excuse and pranced back down the beach again, looking more like Pammy than David. 

They were right to have given all kudos to Renee at the beginning; these stories are pretty lame. The tedium is interrupted briefly when a sudden thunderclap shakes the sky and all of a sudden it’s pouring with rain. Everyone runs outside to pull the chairs undercover and Nicky and Kevin lift the grill up onto the deck out of the rain. Andrew takes the opportunity to refill wine glasses and clear dinner dishes away, then gets the ice cream out of the freezer to soften. Erik sent Nicky with one of his world famous apple pies and the smell that’s wafting from the oven is making his mouth water. Dan is wrapped in Matt’s arms and Andrew marvels at how happy they still make each other, even after twenty years. There’s that vice again, subtly making its presence known. 

Kevin, being Kevin - aka Captain Competitive - was clearly saving himself for the end, but he’d been getting more fidgety as each story went on and now after knocking back a few glasses of wine he makes to speak. Andrew can see the narrowing of his eyes and the flush of his cheeks that suggests whatever he’s about to say made - and still makes - him mad. And the gleam means he’s pretty sure he’s going to nail the honors, Renee be damned. Aaron puts a hand on his thigh, shoulder tensing momentarily as he squeezes and whispers, “breathe, babe.” 

Kevin breathes, but the fire in his eyes remains. “I was robbed this week. In fucking Palmetto!” he sputters a bit at this and then reels himself in, visibly straightening and giving his head a little shake as if to reset. Kevin knows by now that Andrew is not impressed with overdramatics and no matter how angry he is, the story has to be a good one if he wants to win. 

“Go on,” Andrew drones in his best Judge Judy voice.

“I’d been at Eden’s having a coffee and when I got up to the counter to pay I realised my wallet wasn’t in my pocket. So I look back towards the table out front and see that it’s fallen on the ground under my chair. I’m not the only one that spotted it though, because before I can get back there some young punk fucking runs in, grabs it and bails! I would have run after him but at the same time Mrs Morris’ phone rings and she gets a fright and spilled her coffee all down her front so of course I stopped to help her out. Fucker,” he spits, “I loved that wallet.”

“I’ll get you a new one,” Aaron murmurs in his ear.

“I don’t want a new one,” Kevin whispers back. “That was from our first anniversary.”

“Oh kack!” Ally declares, fake vomiting and then knocking her drink back. “I’m going to need more alcohol if you keep carrying on with such sentimentality.”

“Is now a good time to mention the box full of every single letter and card I sent Ally while we were at college, when she was still ‘straight’ and we were most certainly _not_ _yet_ an item?” Renee asks Kevin, her most angelic smile gracing her angelic face. 

“Traitor!” Allison yells. “Bitch! You’re supposed to be on my side, not _his_!” 

“Order!” Andrew calls, whacking the gavel with great enthusiasm. “Good story, Kev. Who’s left? Aaron?”

“Wait, no, I’m not finished! I got derailed.”

“Okay, carry on, but please get to the point.” Yep, Judge Judy was definitely one of his heroes when he was growing up.

“Right. Yes. Your Honor.” Kevin’s milking it now. Trying to butter him up and mocking him simultaneously. “So. I’m helping Mrs Morris mop up the mess she’s just made over her checkbook and a cop walks by. He’s got this real strut going on, you know? Typical pig: aviators, jacket, the lot. Not one of our locals, or maybe fresh out of the academy or something. Super arrogant. I say ‘some punk just stole my wallet, he went north up Perimeter Road’ and he looks at me, head tilted to the side and just slowly pulls his notebook from his pocket and the arrogance slides some and suddenly he looks more like a deer in the headlights.

“‘Stole your wallet, yep, so... you were travelling North…’ and I say ‘no _he_ went north!’ and he goes ‘and um, then what happened?’ I swear to god he is looking anywhere but at me, not even at his notebook, not writing anything down and I say ‘are you listening? Are you even looking at me?’ because you can’t see a thing through his fucking reflective Raybans but he’s clearly somewhere else. And suddenly his posturing changes again and he goes ‘yeah I’m looking at you’, like a real tough guy. And then turns and walks around the corner down the alley. 

“Mrs Morris is crying now because her son died on the job and they don’t make officers like they used to and so I sat with her for a minute until her daughter arrived and then went to walk home. Via the alley. But when I got to the corner I stopped and just - watched, mesmerised - but like bad car accident mesmerised - my feet were rooted to the spot and I couldn’t look away - the cop was there, facing off at the dumpsters, practicing pulling his gun out of his holster over and over again and it was the most awkward thing I’d ever seen in my life. And then I realised he didn’t even have a gun - there was nothing to grab. And then-”

“Is it possible you’re making this up, Day?” Matt says with a grin. Andrew’s surprised it’s taken this long for anyone to interject. Kevin is a history professor; nothing interesting ever happens to him in real time. He tells a good story though and everyone is fully engaged, whether this be fact or fiction. 

“I swear on my mother’s grave this is the truth.”

“-the whole truth and nothing but the truth!” 

“May I continue, your honour?”

Andrew nods. 

“And _then._ He squats down beside a dumpster, makes a handgun,” Kevin demonstrates with hands clasped, pointer and middle fingers all extended to make a pistol, and now his eyes are crinkling at the sides and he’s trying to stay serious, Andrew can tell, but he’s clearly at the climax and knows he’s in with a chance, “looks around, whispers to someone who _clearly isn’t there_ and goes ‘now!’ then scoots out twisting, trying to stand and aim in one quick movement and falls, hard on his side, covered in mud and fuck knows what else is on the ground next to a dumpster.”

“Was he okay?” Dan gasps, clearly focusing on the wrong bit of the story. 

“Who was he talking to?” Nicky begs. “Was he there alone?”

“Finish it off, babe,” Aaron says, smiling up at his man and the vice makes a quarter turn.

“And then, he rolls on to his back and just grins up at the sky. Panting. Like it’s the most fun he’s had in ages. After a few moments, he gets up. Dusts himself off and whistles as he walks away down the alley.”

Kevin bangs both hands down on the table and rocks back on his chair in presumed victory. Sheet lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating the deck through the french doors. 

Andrew looks to his brother to share whatever non-bodily fluid related weird thing happened to him this week (boring) but just then the oven dings and everyone gets up again to crowd around the kitchen bench like a pack of starving teens. Erik’s pies are really fucking delicious. Andrew grabs some oven mitts and pulls out the pan when the doorbell chimes twice in quick succession. 

Andrew is not expecting any more guests. 

“I’ll grab it,” Aaron says, calling over his shoulder and heading down the stairs to the front door. Everyone goes quiet, trying to suss out who might be visiting in the middle of a storm, pretending they’re not desperate to follow directly behind Aaron to see, though it’s a near thing for Nicky. 

“Can I help you?” Aaron says in confusion. It’s running buckets outside.

“Erm,” the voice responds, and it’s hard to hear over the rain but Andrew thinks he hears “It’s raining. My car just broke down… can I borrow a phone please?”

“Who is it Aaron?” Andrew calls, putting the pie down on the bench and wiping his hands. He takes the stairs two at a time.

“It’s the guy from the dry cleaners,” Aaron mutters as Andrew nears.

Aaron has stepped on to the porch under the awning and Andrew stops suddenly at the bottom of the stairs.  
  
It’s the _hot_ guy from the dry cleaner. Hot Dry Cleaner Guy is wet from head to toe, clothes plastered to his skin. His normally bright, coppery waves have darkened where they are plastered across his skin, pupils blown in the porch light leaving only a ring of bright blue irises, eyes framed by clumped lashes that are long enough to hold up several raindrops.

Andrew clears his throat. Probably he’s just another pretty face.

Hot Dry Cleaner Guy looks between the twins and says, awkwardly, “Hi. Ah, I’m sorry to interrupt. It’s really wet out, do you mind if I step under the awning?”

“Back up, Aaron,” Andrew mutters, ignoring the wide eyes his brother throws his way and moving to the side so Aaron can pass. Hot Dry Cleaner Guy moves up the bottom two steps and stands hesitantly just out of the rain. 

Andrew raises an eyebrow at the other man and repeats Aaron’s question. “Can I help you?”

Hot Dry Cleaner Guy flashes a hopeful grin and then, seeing no change in Andrew’s expression lets the smile drop. Pity, it was quite a grin. “My car’s broken down, I wondered if I could borrow a phone?” he says again. 

“Don’t you have a phone?”

“It’s, well. I’m notoriously bad at charging it. Which isn’t normally a problem, but, see above: broken down car.”

“You realise this is a verbal conversation, not an email exchange?”

“You realise it’s fucking pouring out and I could have called a tow by now? Can I use your phone or not?”

Andrew laughs, a rare and precious thing that surprises him into stepping back and holding the door open for the drowned rat in front of him. He reaches into the cupboard by the door and hands over a towel. 

“What’s your name, Dry Cleaner Guy?”

“Neil,” Neil says, rubbing the towel vigorously back and forth across his head, revealing a wild and wooly mop when he’s done. 

“Andrew,” Andrew offers and then, because Neil is pretty _and_ interesting, and because the pie smell is wafting out and the ice cream is getting soft, (and because, perhaps, all of a sudden the vice seems to have loosened a little)... Andrew says “Do you like apple pie?”

He goes into the spare room on the entry level and pulls out some jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt from the pile of laundry that hasn’t made its way upstairs yet. “There’s a shower behind that door. You can use it if you want, or not, whatever, but you’re not dripping water up my stairs. Come up when you’re dry.”

“I’m happy to wait here if you want to just go and grab a phone?”

“Apple pie. Ice cream. Dry clothes.”

“Okay, tough guy,” Neil retorts, accepts the bundle from Andrew and closes the bedroom door.

When Andrew steps back into the kitchen, everyone is very unsubtly pretending that they haven’t been eavesdropping on the entire exchange. 

“What the fuck, Andrew?” Aaron asks, incredulous. 

“What? You heard him, it’s raining out. And the pie just came out of the oven. It seemed rude not to invite him in.” Andrew knows this is a weak excuse. Allison collects strays. Matt collects strays. Andrew does not collect strays. 

Nicky’s eyes widen. “Is he _hot_?” he says, straight to Aaron, knowing there’s no chance in hell Andrew will respond to that. And so he does, because apparently he’s doing things a little differently right now.

“I mean, he’s soggy as fuck, but yeah, he’s an attractive guy.”

Just then Neil walks into the kitchen, coughs awkwardly behind Andrew and Allison cackles with glee. Neil’s ears are pink when he steps out from behind Andrew and opens his mouth to speak but suddenly Kevin says “You’re the cop!” Neil’s eyes widen a moment and he opens his mouth again but it turns out Kev isn’t finished. “I loved that fucking wallet, you weird asshole!”

No, Neil is Hot Dry Cleaner Guy. It’s unlike Kevin to mix up faces, and Andrew can’t fathom how you could ever mistake _this_ face. It’s hardly a crowd blender.

And then everyone is talking at once. 

Nicky goes, “He’s not a cop! He’s the doctor that was trying to hurl into a trash can the other day.”

Matt says, clearly confused as all get out. “He’s the lifesaver I was telling you about.”

Dan shakes her head and says, “I saw you in the bar!”

And Renee breaks through the melee, voice soft, but crystal clear and dry as bone: “You got an ingredient you don’t know what to do with?” She points a finger at Neil. “Poach it.”

And then Neil, who had been standing beside Andrew all this time, looking down at his bare feet, looks up at Renee first, then the rest of the group. His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, top lip lifted on one side as he squints one eye and smiles like he’s hoping to make himself look endearing.  
  
(It works. He does look endearing.)

“Uh, hey. I’m Neil. I work at the dry cleaner on Perimeter Road.”

“It’s no wonder your car broke down,” Ally pipes up. “I cannot believe anyone would drive that piece of shit rust bucket.”

Andrew finds himself grinning. He’s leaning against the kitchen door frame, watching his friends piece together what he figured out as soon as everyone started talking at once. Watching Neil assess the faces around him as he stands confidently in their midst, utterly unrepenting, challenging even. Andrew was having fun before, but this is next level. His family sees his smile and, taking their cue from him, has decided Neil must be okay. He is still smiling when Neil turns to him and then is blinded by the smile that is reflected back. 

He coughs, runs his hand through his hair and turns away, into the kitchen. “Are we eating these pies while they’re still warm, or not?”

And then they’re all at the table again, and someone has pulled up a chair for Neil, who has called a tow but has at least a three hour wait due to the shitty weather. Andrew takes a bite of pie, points his fork at Neil and says around a mouthful of shortcrust pastry: “Spill.”

“What do you want to know?”

“The truth-”

“-the whole truth and nothing but the truth,” the Foxes say with glee.

Neil’s smile lights up the room. He nods. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do when I finished school. I’d travelled a heap with my mum and always had itchy feet, so the idea of being locked into a college and then locked into the same job for the rest of my days made my skin crawl. This is great pie, by the way,” he says to the table. “I’m not much of a sweet tooth but this is perfection.” 

Nicky beams in return “It’s all about the apple choice, Doc.”

Neil has the good grace to allow the dig. “So, I took a job at a dry cleaner to tide me over until I figured it out. I still move around a fair bit and for some odd reason, dry cleaning isn’t a particularly desirable career, so there’s not a lot of competition. I’ve worked as one for years now. As it turns out, a dry cleaners is a perfect place to explore other options.”

“You. Are an idiot,” Andrew declares, and Neil’s eyes twinkle as he smiles brightly. 

“It’s fun,” he says with a shrug as if that completely justifies the behaviour.

“So the other day, when I picked up my scrubs and you said - and I quote - ‘there you are Doc, I took it for a spin this morning actually,’ - you’d been wearing my _scrubs_ that day. I wondered what the hell you were talking about,” Aaron mused. 

They have fun. 

Neil finds a way to slip the word _truth_ into the conversation at least every five minutes and of course everyone plays along. 

The storm passes as if it had never been and they make their way out to the deck to stargaze, the sound of waves crashing on the shore providing the perfect soundtrack. 

Neil regales them with ridiculous tales about some of his borrowed-uniform shenanigans. 

Andrew watches Neil as he fits in seamlessly with his family, and more than once catches the other man watching him back. He feels the vice unwind and then vanish as the hours pass. 

Eventually the tow truck arrives and Neil bids them all goodnight. Andrew walks him to the curb. 

“It really is a fucking awful car, Neil.”

“We can’t all drive an ambulance around, Andrew,” he retorts. “Thank you, for the phone and the clothes and the pie. I like your friends, a lot, they’re great.” He pauses then, scratching the back of his neck for a moment and looking back towards the house, suddenly shy. “I’ll ah, clean your clothes at work on Tuesday, if you want to come by and get them?”

“What’s your favourite uniform?” Andrew asks, by way of reply, suddenly desperate to drag this out a little longer. 

“The best ones are the ones that fit well. I mean, most other men’s clothes swim on me, so when someone walks in that is a similar build to me I get excited. My favourite was a pilot's outfit. I always did love flying.” The tow driver grunts and Neil turns to go. “Thanks again.” And then, as he pulls himself into the cab of the truck, hollers “Arm the doors and cross check.”

“You planning on flying away anytime soon, Captain?” Andrew calls out. 

“I think I could find a good reason to stick around.” 

Andrew hums to himself, and gives a two-finger salute in the direction of the truck as it drives away. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to see the inspiration for this fic - the ad is [here](https://vimeo.com/163412107), and the [outtakes](http://www.tvadvertsuk.com/food-and-beverage/fosters-tv-advert-for-the-thirsty-the-clumbsy-policeman-the-arrogant-poaching-chef-and-thelaundry-basket-riding-jockey-forthethirsty-beer-raddler-tennants/) are here. I find the outtakes especially amusing.


End file.
